Otherworld Challenger

by Jane Godman

  Looking into her eyes, Vashti had no doubt she meant it. What the hell was going on here?

  “It looks like the cavalry has arrived just in time.” Vashti frowned in confusion at Aydan’s words. He nodded at the two tall figures coming toward them up the hill.

  Vashti gave a little cry of delight as she recognized Cal and Lorcan. “How did you know I needed you?” she asked as they reached the summit.

  “Sure, didn’t you keep sending out cries for help to Tanzi and not replying whenever she tried to answer you?” Lorcan frowned as he took in the scene.

  “You mean she could hear me all the time?”

  “Hear you? You nearly deafened her.” He grinned. “Me and the big feller here decided we’d better come and check things out for ourselves.” He clapped Aydan on the back so hard the smaller man nearly toppled to his knees. “Good to see you.” His greeting for Lisbet was less enthusiastic, and he nodded curtly at her. No doubt he was remembering Lisbet’s harsh treatment of Tanzi.

  Lorcan’s coolness was nothing in comparison to his friend’s expression as he looked at Lisbet. Cal was regarding her in much the same way he would stare at a coiled snake. Vashti turned to look at Lisbet and the uncomfortable feeling inside her began to spiral out of control. Could her fae senses have been so hopelessly wrong where the other woman was concerned? Yes, she had felt something out of whack about Lisbet all along, but Cal’s expression told her it was much more than that.

  Lisbet’s earlier anger was gone and she was now gazing back at Cal, a slight, victorious smile playing around her lips.

  “Merlin.” There was a hint of laughter in her tone as she called Cal by the name he hadn’t used for centuries. The name everyone knew he hated. “It’s been too long.”

  “Never wouldn’t be long enough for me.” Cal’s unusual silver-gray eyes were like slivers of ice.

  Lisbet placed a hand over her heart in a gesture of mock hurt. “You always were harsh. As my sister found at the cost of her life.”

  “Oh, my God.” Vashti shook her head as realization hit her like a kick in the gut. “No wonder you didn’t come to the palace with us before we came to Avalon. It was because Cal would have recognized you. You scheming bitch.”

  The other woman laughed. “How unoriginal of you. Do you know how many times that’s been said about me? Scheming implies there is intelligence in my opposition. Yet I did nothing to outwit you. It was boring in its simplicity. He figured it out, of course. Just as it was too late.” Her eyes flickered to the casket, confirming Vashti’s suspicions.

  Jethro was in there.

  Aydan stared from one to the other in confusion. “What’s going on? Who figured what out?”

  Even though it would hurt him, Vashti decided to put an end to the taunts. “Jethro figured out that the woman we have been calling Lisbet is actually Morgan le Fay.”

  “No.” His face blanched as he faced Morgan. “You told me you cared about me.”

  “Get over it, you sad little faerie.”

  Of all the things Morgan le Fay was going to pay for, the look on Aydan’s face when she said those words went close to the top of Vashti’s list. She moved toward Cal. “This is likely to be the strangest summary you have ever heard.”

  “Try me.” A hint of humor lightened his expression. “I’ve heard some stories in my time.”

  “Not like this one.” Vashti spoke with confidence. “When she—” she pointed a finger at Morgan, who was still watching them with that superior smile on her face “—found she couldn’t save King Arthur, she placed him in an enchanted sleep until she was able to discover a way to restore him. She hatched a scheme to place his spirit in the body of an unborn child. A fae child who just happened to be the same child who is the challenger we have been seeking.”

  While Cal assimilated the implications of what she was saying, Lorcan whistled. “What are the chances?”

  Cal’s expression became urgent, his eyes fixed on her face. “Who is he?”

  “Jethro.” Her voice broke.

  “Jethro? What the fuck...?” For a moment Cal looked dumbfounded. Then he turned to Lorcan. “And yet, strange as it seems, I can see it. Can you?”

  Lorcan’s face was a mirror image of Cal’s shocked expression, but he nodded slowly. “Now you mention it...the swagger, the stubbornness, the sarcasm, the arrogant refusal to listen to anyone else’s opinion. Yes, he’s Arthur, all right. No doubt about it. I’m only surprised we didn’t notice it before.”

  While they were talking, Vashti was able to regain control of her emotions. “Jethro has no idea. But memories of his past life were beginning to return. I think it was something to do with being here on Avalon. Then he became impatient and threatened to leave, so Morgan imprisoned him. I’m sure—I’m almost positive—that he is in this tomb. It’s King Arthur’s grave.”

  “So what are we waiting for?” Rolling up the sleeves of his chambray work shirt, Lorcan strode toward the casket.

  “Wait.” Cal’s voice halted his friend in his tracks. After centuries of being in charge, issuing commands was second nature to the great sorcerer.

  Morgan raised a brow. “Scared?”

  The look he gave her was scathing. “No. Wise. I know you, remember? I’ve seen what you can do. I was there when you tried your best to ruin the life of the finest man I ever knew. Arthur. Your own brother. And you did it over and over.”

  She flew at him then, the action so fast that it took everyone by surprise. Morgan’s hands curled into claws and aimed for Cal’s eyes, but he caught hold of her wrists, bearing down on them with his superior strength until she fell to her knees. Vashti supposed Morgan knew her magic wouldn’t work on one whose own powers were so much stronger, even here on the island she had made her own. Despite that, Morgan’s eyes flashed pure evil up at Cal as she panted and writhed in his grasp.

  “Don’t you dare speak his name!”

  “Not speak the name of one of my best friends? Who are you to forbid me to say the name Arthur out loud?”

  His voice took on a commanding, mountain-moving tone that reminded everyone who he really was. Vashti shivered. She could almost have believed she felt the earth beneath her feet move when he very deliberately pronounced each syllable of Arthur’s name.

  “Galdre. Deófolwítga.” Morgan spat the words at Cal. Vashti recognized the demeaning old English words for a wizard. Her father had often used the same insults when talking of his half brother. “You will pay for that.”

  “Quite the family gathering.” Iago’s voice made Vashti’s flesh crawl and she turned slowly to face him as he reached the top of the hill. He was accompanied by Moncoya. Iago grinned cheerfully at her father. “My grandmother. Your daughter and your half brother. Not to mention your new son-in-law. While we’re all gathered here together, we should throw a party.”

  Lorcan cracked his knuckles suggestively. Moncoya nodded, his expression one of weary distaste as he looked at Iago. “I never thought I’d find myself in agreement with you, necromancer, but he’s starting to get on my nerves, as well.”

  “Can we all stop talking and get Jethro out of there?” Vashti pleaded.

  “You can try. I will enjoy breaking you in two when you do.” Morgan, still in Cal’s grip, spat the words at her.

  “I’m not sure we need to do anything.” Cal’s eyes were fixed on a point midway down the slope. “I think Jethro might have already found his own way out of the tomb.”

  Chapter 20

  Jethro led his troops up the hillside toward the tomb from which he had escaped a few hours before. Some of the soldiers were on horseback, some followed on foot. When he lay in that casket and summoned them, he hadn’t known what to expect. After all these centuries of lying dormant since the battle of Camlan, in which Mordred had dealt Arthur that fatal blow, would they still
know him? Would they recognize their beloved Arthur in the features of Jethro de Loix? They would follow him as the necromancer who had raised them, but he wanted more from them than that. Would they follow him as their king?

  He needed not have worried. Every man had gazed at him with reverence before bending his knee in an obsequious gesture. There had been laughter, reminiscences and tears. They had insisted he, their sovereign, must take the finest steed. He rode it proudly now as he advanced toward his age-old enemy. Morgan. She was at the top of that hill. He hated her, yet she still had the power to mesmerize him. If he was ever to leave this island and move on from this day, he had to destroy the woman who had darkened his past life and wanted to control his future. And there was still Iago. He had summoned his army for a different reason, but he might need them for the coming fight.

  As he approached the summit, Jethro could see a number of people gathered around the casket. His eyes were drawn to only one. Vashti looked so delicate standing between the powerful figures of Cal and Lorcan, but Jethro knew different. She was the strongest of them all. As he approached, she turned her head to gaze up at him, her expression half relief and half surprise. Her love for him shone out of her face in that instant, and all he wanted to do was to forget what was going on around them, leap off his horse, crush her against his chest and kiss her until she begged him for mercy. Next time he was able to do that, he wasn’t letting her go for a very long time.

  Jethro dismounted, handing the reins to one of his soldiers. Releasing his hold on Morgan, Cal came forward, the light in his eyes affectionate and laughing. “How did I not know? You even look like him now.”

  “If I didn’t know, how the fuck was anyone else supposed to guess?”

  “Sure, don’t you owe me a silver shilling? We had ourselves a bet back in old Camelot I’d not be able to drink three flagons of mead and then walk a straight line. You never did pay up.” Lorcan clapped Jethro on the back.

  “That’s because Gawain told me two of those flagons contained water not mead, my cheating friend.”

  “Gawain was always a goody-goody. Is he here?”

  Iago turned to Moncoya. “It’s like a Knights of the Round Table reunion. You and I are automatically excluded for not being heroic or prepared to lay down our lives in the cause of the mighty King Arthur.”

  “Shut up.” Moncoya spoke through clenched teeth. The faerie king looked like a man who was watching his hopes and dreams disappearing before his eyes. He turned to where Morgan was still kneeling on the ground. She was gazing up at Jethro, her eyes shining. “You promised me you would keep him here. Do something. Make it happen.”

  Moncoya’s voice seemed to rouse Morgan from her trance. Rising, she came to Jethro with her hands held out. “You came back to me, my love. Just as I knew you would.”

  Jethro was vaguely aware of Cal placing an arm around Vashti’s shoulders and felt a flicker of gratitude toward his friend. He faced Morgan, looking down into the eyes that had claimed his soul so many times in the past. “Why the pretense of being someone else? That whole Lisbet thing was cruel.”

  “She was a useful disguise. A way of getting close to Merlin. I thought if anyone knew your identity it would be him.” She laughed. “I should have known they were all too stupid to figure it out.”

  “Aydan is a good person. He didn’t deserve to be caught up in your tricks.”

  “Nothing matters except us.” Her eyes were hungry, her hands reaching eagerly for him. He allowed her to grasp the front of his doublet. “When I saw you again, the centuries melted away. All the pain of being without you was worth waiting to have one more glimpse of your face.”

  Morgan pressed her body tight up against his. “Look closely at it, because this is the last glimpse you’ll ever get.” Gripping her throat with one hand, Jethro produced a small earthenware bottle from his pocket with the other. He sensed Lorcan moving to assist him. “Stand back.”

  Morgan’s hands came up to clasp his wrist. Her eyes grew wild and frightened. “What are you doing?”

  Jethro forced the neck of the bottle between her lips. “What I should have done centuries ago. Drink it, you evil witch.” Tipping her throat back further, he pushed her teeth apart, emptying the contents of the bottle into Morgan’s mouth.

  When he had finished, he released her. Morgan flung herself away from him. Dashing the liquid dripping from her mouth away with her sleeve, she regarded him with horrified eyes. “Don’t you know no poison can harm me?”

  “It’s not poison. After my men released me from your prison, we undertook a little landscaping task. It was quite a job, but we managed it.” Jethro swept an arm wide to encompass the hills on either side of them. “We created two channels. You will find the spring on the right hill and the spring on the left hill now flow all the way to the bottom of each. They come together at the base of this hill.”

  Morgan stared at him in growing horror. “The two springs meet in the center now?”

  “That’s right. It was you who told me that story, remember? They form an elixir that is more powerful than any magic ever known. Even that of Merlin Caledonius himself.” He flashed a quick grin at his friend. “Sorry, Cal.” Jethro held up the bottle and tilted it to show it was empty. “Guess what you have just swallowed?”

  “No.” Morgan’s hands came up to her throat. Her eyes were frenzied. “What have I ever done except love you?”

  “What have you done? You cast a spell on me and seduced me when I was eighteen, forgetting to mention you were my sister. You kept me in ignorance of that fact even after you bore my child. When I refused to continue the relationship, you turned our son, Mordred, into my worst enemy. With him, you raised armies against me. When I was away fighting the Romans, you conspired with Mordred so he seduced Guinevere, my wife. It was only after Mordred struck me that fatal blow at Camlan you decided you wanted to keep me in the world.” As he was speaking, Morgan fell to the ground, curling into a fetal position. “Maybe I should thank you for this new life you gave me. But I’m sure as hell not going to hand you my future so you can screw with it the way you did with my past.”

  “Your grandmother is dying. Go to her.” As she spoke to Iago, Jethro was amazed at how strong Vashti’s fae sense had become. She could feel sympathy for her worst enemy.

  Iago recoiled from the suggestion. “I might get some of the elixir on my skin.”

  Jethro glanced over his shoulder at the trickster. “I wouldn’t worry about that. When we get to the base of this hill, you’re going to bathe in it.”

  He gave a signal and several soldiers came forward to seize Iago by the arms. Casting a look of disgust at Iago, who slumped sobbing in the grip of his captors, Vashti knelt beside Morgan.

  Lorcan joined her, placing a hand on Vashti’s shoulder. He looked up at Jethro, shaking his head. “Morgan le Fay is dead.”

  There was a minute of complete silence as each of them thought of what the dead woman had done to their lives. The sun broke through the clouds and a light breeze blew Jethro’s hair back from his face as he thought of all the emotions Morgan had aroused in him throughout the centuries. None of them had been quiet. Passion, love, hatred, fury. Now there was only peace and an overwhelming sense of relief.

  The quiet was broken by an almighty wail as Iago began to beg and plead for his own life.

  Cal glanced around. “Where the fuck is Moncoya?”

  * * *

  Night was falling when the three necromancers and Aydan returned to the castle. “No sign of the slippery little fucker,” Lorcan announced, throwing himself down into one of the seats at the round table.

  “He means your father,” Cal explained to Vashti. “As far as we know, he is still alive. Jethro’s soldiers have scoured the island and found no sign of him.”

  “And Iago?”

  “Dead.” Jethro’s voic
e was grim. “I decided the elixir pool was a lot kinder than ripping his throat out.” He looked down at her face. “There was no prison that could hold him, and none of us—especially you—would ever be safe again with him alive.”

  Vashti nodded, swallowing the obstruction in her throat. “I did not help my father to escape.”

  Jethro’s eyes burned into hers. “I never thought you did.”

  “You thought it last time.”

  “And you will never forgive me for it. I get it.” He sounded weary. They were all weary.

  “I hate to be the one to break up the party, but our mission here is over. I, for one, don’t want to spend any more time than I have to on Avalon.” Cal glanced around and they all nodded in agreement. “The most important thing is to get Jethro back to the palace so he can be introduced to his people. Igraine won’t carry us all, but we also have the boat that Lorcan and I came on.”

  “You and Jethro should take Igraine. She’s the fastest. The rest of us can follow at a slower pace,” Lorcan suggested.

  Jethro’s eyes were fixed on Vashti’s face. He seemed about to protest, but she forestalled him by agreeing with Lorcan. “That suits me. When can we leave?”

  “How soon can you pack?” Cal asked.

  “Give me ten minutes to say goodbye to an old friend and five more to pack my things.”

  * * *

  Saying goodbye to Rina was emotional. When Jethro thanked her for saving his life, Rina became incoherent with tears. At least now that Morgan was gone, Vashti could extract a promise from her old nurse to come and visit her regularly. Visit me where? I have no idea where my home will be now I am no longer a royal princess. The idea was scary and exciting at the same time.

  When they left Rina, Vashti darted away, purposely avoiding Jethro’s stare. He was trying to convey something to her with his eyes. Probably that he wanted to talk to her. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. It’s been nice, but...? He’d done the whole “I don’t do love” speech right at the start; she didn’t need any reminders. She knew he cared about her, even if love might not be the right word. But Jethro’s whole life had just been turned upside down. Not only was he the new King of the Faeries, he had to cope with a centuries-old past he never knew he had. The last thing he needed was the complication of dealing with a relationship with the daughter of the man who would seek to destroy him. I walked into this with my eyes open. I wanted you as much as you wanted me. Okay, I didn’t mean to fall in love. But don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll deal with it.